


Season 1 Episode 7 - Sorbet

by PaleGlimmer



Series: Hannibal Smut Companion [7]
Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Autopsy, Episode Related, Evisceration, Hannigram - Freeform, M/M, Masochism, Medical Procedures, Organ Removal, Pain, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Season 1, Sexual Fantasy, Vivisection
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-27
Updated: 2019-05-27
Packaged: 2020-03-20 00:21:38
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,007
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18981364
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PaleGlimmer/pseuds/PaleGlimmer
Summary: After having witnessed bloody Hannibal Lecter saving a life, Will Graham keeps dreaming about the doctor rearranging his guts (literally). In his obsessed mind, sexual autopsic shenanigans ensue.





	Season 1 Episode 7 - Sorbet

**Author's Note:**

> Part of my project Hannibal Smut Companion: a little piece of smut set in/around each episode. Every TV episode resets events/characters.  
> I’m rubbish at tagging, feel free to help. Kudos and comments are all very welcome.

That night a life was saved by Hannibal Lecter only as a result of multiple serendipitous events. 

Will Graham had missed his weekly appointment with Hannibal without giving notice. Hannibal had gone looking for him at the FBI Academy, some time later, and found him there, Will’s gaze unfocused and empty, having one of his episodes of lost time. They were still at the Academy, together, looking over photographs of the Chesapeake Ripper’s crime scenes, when Beverly found a good lead, and Jack Crawford rushed them all to the expected crime scene. 

The suspect - maybe the Ripper (according to Crawford), maybe not (according to Graham) - was caught in the middle of a botched surgery, a kidney already removed from the man in his care. Only the casual presence of Hannibal there had saved the victim’s life. Hannibal had stepped in, all precise movements and sharp attention. With his sleeves rolled up, just as Will had seen him in his kitchen, he had taken things in his hands, saved a life thanks to skills that looked effortless for him, a second nature. 

Will had watched Hannibal operate, slowly pulled closer as if attracted by the gravity of a unending fall. Under the cold, spotty light of the street, he had observed, in reverent silence. He had stared at Hannibal, taking in his fluid stance, the line of his shoulders, the veins in his forearms, his deft hands. He had felt admiration blooming inside for the way Hannibal moved, like a panther in the forest: silent, powerful, in control. Even deadly, if the occasion raised. Hannibal had briefly turned his attention to him, looked into his eyes, and Will had sustained his stare, unflinching but with his heart skipping a beat. It had meant something, though Will didn’t easily admit what. In spite of how little that moment lasted, it had planted a seed in Will’s mind, apparently, because that’s when the new dreams started.

The beginning of Will’s disconcerting dreams was always the same. 

Will opened his eyes, and blinked under blinding white lights right above him. He was confused, lost, with no memory of where he could be or how he ended up there. He was lying on a cold, unyielding surface, that much he could feel against the naked skin of his back. He was also shivering from the cold - the temperature of the room was low enough to turn his breath into pale clouds of vapor.

Once his eyes adapted, he would make out a row of neon lights on the ceiling, surrounding an elongated mirror that reflected his body entirely. He could see that he was lying on a metal table, the ones he had seen so many times in morgues. A simple, practical, standard autopsy table. At this time, he usually realized that he was fully naked, only a thin papery sheet covering him, arms locked to the table by his side with leather shackles holding him at the wrists. Shackles around his ankles too, blocking his spread out legs.

Will felt so tired deep down to this bones, he never even tried to free himself. The acidic taste in the back of his mouth wasn’t terror or fear, though - the most appropriate feelings for such a helpless situation if this had happened in a real life setting. It buzzed on his tongue in time with the neon light, with the accelerated throbbing of his heart: it was the tingling sensation of anticipation and excitement.

Hannibal came out of the shadows, moving silently as a ghost, wearing one of his absurd plaid trousers with a coordinated vest, a dark red dress shirt and a white silk tie. The shirt was rolled up to his forearm, just like when he was cooking in his kitchen, or saving a life by chance with emergency surgery. The angle of the ceiling light turned his deep-set eyes into pools of inscrutable darkness and his face into a bony skull, thin skin stretched on sharp bones. Dream Hannibal never spoke to Will, unfortunately, because Will would have enjoyed hearing his soothing voice very much. Maybe have the procedure described to him, step by step, like some kind of gory tale, even if he had seen it too many times already, again and again. This was a most singular point of view, of course. 

Hannibal stopped besides Will and removed the sheet covering him, exposing his pale nude body. Looking at himself on the ceiling mirror, Will noted how the positioning of his open legs made him look pathetic and debauched, with his soft dick helplessly resting against his stomach. Hannibal caressed Will’s face with his hands - no sterile gloves, not now nor later. The touch was warm and slow - the touch of a lover, not a medical practitioner - and Will relaxed into it with a sigh, a shiver of pleasure and shame running down his spine. The doctor’s hands insisted on Will’s face, a thumb stroking his bottom lip, then pushing inside his mouth and beyond his teeth. Will welcomed the intrusion, moaned around it and sucked as hard as he could, all fluttering eyelashes and blushing cheeks, overcome by the obvious desire for more contact, more attention, more anything from Hannibal. Will tried not to look at his own pathetic reflection on the mirror, but all the same he knew that even such a little thing had made his cock visibly twitch. 

Hannibal had a slim scalpel in his hand now, it caught the light and shined like a jewel. Will swallowed at the sight, more shivers running through his body, anticipation pooling in his loins. Hannibal placed the scalpel on Will’s left shoulder joint, no pressure applied yet, his face with the dark void in place of his eyes turned as to observe Will’s expression. Will wet his dry lips, this moment with the scalpel standing still on his skin was the worst part of the dream: he could almost feel it and yet, the mercy of pain was still escaping him. His brain short-circuited with uncountable voices, all pleading, screaming, begging, filling him with dread and anxiety, memories of unspeakable horrors and fantasies of dangerous darkness. Both murders and victims, in a confused hell. Voices that were taking up more and more space and time in his head without him being able to shut them up.

Only when Hannibal drew blood with the scalpel, the voices in Will’s head suddenly went quiet. Will could see the red of blood blooming on his pale chest, slowly following Hannibal’s hand in the mirror: a thin red line, life escaping from the hell that was inside of him. There was no pain at first, then a strip of cold as if his skin was being scraped by a splinter of ice, and then a burning pain followed. While the coldness was a localized feeling, the fire of the broken skin enveloped him whole, a blanket of flames that forced animal-like, undignified screams of pain from him mouth. 

The first incision run from his shoulder to the center of the sternum. A perfectly straight line, of course, despite Will’s agitation. Then Hannibal cut a second incision, specular to the first one, starting at the other shoulder. The cuts met in the middle of Will’s chest, where the blood pooled before dripping in rivulets to his sides. From there, Hannibal completed the Y shaped incision with a long straight cut that went below his navel, reaching Will’s groin. 

By now burning pain was the only thing existing in Will’s mind - and he was so thankful for it. There was only one voice he could hear screaming in pain, inside and outside his mind: his own. That was, finally, tolerable. And inescapably arousing.

After the incision, with satisfaction on his eyeless face for a job well done, Hannibal pulled the skin aside to reveal the rib cage. Skinned alive, with his innards exposed to the cold air of the room and the appreciative look on Hannibal’s face: at this point Will always stopped screaming. His throat was too sore, his breath too short and difficult, the sides of his face covered by the salty trails of tears. In real life the pain would have been unsustainable and knocked him out already, in shock. In the dream, the best was yet to come. And shamefully, Will always knew that at this point his dick was hard, thick and glistening at the end of the Y incision, the trail of red blood pointing to it like an indecent neon sign. He could have closed his eyes but instead followed the procedure in the mirror, enchanted by Hannibal’s deft hands, his physical pain now a backdrop to the doctor’s power over him and his own growing arousal because of it.

Once Will’s torso was skinned open, Hannibal started with the organs’ removal. Will appreciated the use of the classic Virchow technique for his own autopsy, it had always been his favorite, with the careful removal of the organs one by one. Slower, sure, but more satisfying. More personal. The first organ to be removed was the liver. Hannibal furrowed in concentration his non-existent brows, slowly severing the arteries with the scalpel, then enthusiastically diving inside the body with both hands. And Will felt them, roaming inside of him, touching, moving, making Will shiver of pleasure from the inside out with every touch that confirmed Hannibal’s unlimited power over him.

Once cut free from his body, Hannibal lifted the liver tenderly in his blood-dripping hands, cradling it like a cute puppy, showing it with delight to Will himself, as if saying “See? What a good job you did with this, I’m so proud of you, my dear. You couldn’t find me a better gift.” Then Hannibal put away the liver on a nearby table that had a row of white plates, one for every organ to be removed. The procedure went on with the removal of the major organs, each one removed and carefully placed on its white plate. The less of himself remained in him, the more Will felt excited, elated, and truly horny. He had a soft spot for the moment when Hannibal removed his intestines, the long organ all rolled up in Hannibal’s bloody hands like a lazy snake. But of course the most memorable bit was the closing of the dream, with Hannibal removing his last organ: his beating heart. Hannibal held it in front of his own adoring face for some long minutes, electricity still animating the expunged organ, then he moved it closer to his lips and…

…that was always the end of Will’s dreams. 

He woke up in either one of the following two conditions: the best one saw him having had an orgasm during the dream. It meant he could somehow still pretend that nothing was going on in his mind with regard to his friend-shrink-colleague Hannibal Lecter. It also meant waking up in uncomfortable wetness, ruined underwear, and feeling stupid like a teenager having his first wet dreams, but he could shove it to the back of his mind easily enough for the rest of the day - just stupid intrusive fantasies out of his control. The second option meant waking up with a sore boner that he had to take care of urgently in the shower. There he would have to furiously masturbate (one hand choking his cock, a couple of fingers going in and out of his ass) while entertaining conscious, extremely explicit sexual thoughts about Doctor Lecter rearranging his guts on an autopsy table. Will always tried his best to ignore the clear messages from his subconscious, but having to start the day that way - even before having the chance of a hot coffee - wasn’t doing anything for his disposition. 

Good riddance to Will’s subconscious spelling out things for him because - somehow predictably - Will’s solution to the issue at hand, instead of asking Hannibal out on a date or arresting him for being a cannibal and a serial killer, was to swallow more aspirin. 

**Author's Note:**

> I didn’t really kept it true to life only for my own ineptitude at writing, but I read up about autopsies and it was phenomenal. Things this fandom makes me do. I love it.


End file.
